Yes
by fiefjsa
Summary: Owen helps Cristina struggle through the loss of her friends.
1. Chapter 1

"Yes."

Cristina inhaled, closed her eyes, and let her head drop, her hair falling into her eyes.

She had said yes. She had accepted him. She had been so damn happy.

And then everything had happened. Izzie. George. Cristina exhaled sharply, blinking back her tears. She had been so god damn happy. And now? Now she didn't know. She didn't know what she felt, what she was supposed to feel. She was numb, so over-loaded with every emotion imaginable that she was desensitized to it all.

A breeze blew her bangs from her eyes and cooled the tears that she had been fighting so hard to keep in. Cristina shuddered against the wind and pulled her knees up to her chest. The bench she was sitting on was bitter cold and goose bumps appeared along her bare arms but she couldn't bring herself to go inside. She couldn't face all the pain, all the death. She couldn't handle the trauma just yet. Footsteps approached and she rubbed her nose, trying to hide her sorrow, her weakness, but it was no good. As soon as she tried to stop her tears they came harder. _Why couldn't she stay in control for just once? _

The footsteps stopped behind her and she felt a hand comb through her hair.

"Hi."

Cristina lifted her head, still looking forward. "Hi." Her voice cracked.

Owen walked around the bench to sit beside her. He put his arm around her to shield her from the wind, wishing he could shield her from the pain as well. Cristina let her legs drop to the ground as she fell into his warm body. She buried her face into his chest as tears silently streamed down her face. He rubbed her arms, trying to transfer his warmth to her cold skin. They sat in silence for awhile before she spoke.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Her voice was muffled by his chest, but he could make out the misery, the vulnerability. He wrapped both arms around her tightly, holding her to him. He had nothing to say. He couldn't think of anything that would make her better. All he could do was hold her, protect her. He kissed the top of her head slowly and frowned at her icy skin. Feeling his apprehension she sighed shakily. "I can't go back in there Owen. I can't face all of it." She raised her head to look him in the eyes, silently pleading with him. "I- I can't."

"I know." It was his turn to sigh. "I know. It's alright. We'll sit out here for a few minutes longer." She nodded and put her head back against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat. "Don't worry. We'll just stay out here."


	2. Chapter 2

Cristina sat on the leather couch in her apartment, placing cheerios into her mouth one by one, staring at the blank television. It had been a week since she had last been to the hospital and all she had eaten was breakfast cereals. She hadn't been able to hold down much else. She chewed slowly and swallowed, forcing the cheerios painfully down her dry throat. Callie had agreed to spend a few weeks with Arizona so Cristina could be alone for awhile. She hadn't seen Meredith since the accident either. She and Derek had decided to take some days off, and the chief persuaded Cristina to do the same. She had been bitter at first, but here, now, she was grateful that she could mourn in the privacy of her own apartment, away from dying patients, and more failed surgeries. She picked up a glass of water and brought it to her lips slowly. She tipped her head back and let the water slide gently down her throat. She let out a small couch at the foreign feeling, but didn't gag which was a good sign.

Her phone vibrated and Cristina watched it inch across her coffee table. She didn't need to look to know it was Owen. He had been calling. And she hadn't answered. She didn't feel like talking, even to him. Alex had called too, left a message. He was going to be out of town for a couple months to visit his mother. She'd been wanting to see him for awhile and he figured this was as good a time as ever. He didn't know when he was going to come back so they shouldn't wait for him to hold a funeral for Izzie. Other than that, all her incoming calls were from Owen.

He had stopped by the apartment once too. Cristina had pretended she wasn't home. She listening for 20 minutes as he calmly knocked, trying to coax her out of her hiding before he gave up. After that it was only phone calls. After the vibrating stopped, she picked up the phone, just to be sure. She was right. It was him. Cristina sighed. She hoped he would forgive her eventually for this. She just knew that if she were to pick up the phone he would make her feel better about all of this. He would make her smile – laugh even.

Tears came to Cristina's eyes and she knew better than to try and blink them back. Izzie was always the smiling one. She was the one with cancer who was still always smiling. And now she was dead. Cristina didn't deserve to smile if Izzie could never smile again. She exhaled shakily, grabbing an already used tissue from the table. She made a mental note to go buy more when she was ready to leave the house again. She blew her nose noisily, cringing as she rubbed the moist fabric against her already sore skin.

She threw the now twice used tissue back on her table and jumped at the sound of a knock on her door. Cristina checked her clock: 3:43. She got up and, as quietly as possible, padded over to the door. The buzzers in her building were consistently broken or breaking so every visitor was a surprise. Holding her breath, she looked through the peephole to see who was there. It was Owen. Of course it was Owen, Mer was out of town with Derek, Alex was MIA, and all her other friends were dead.

He knocked again softly, almost as if he didn't want her to hear him. He looked into the eyehole and Cristina gasped quietly and turned around, closing her eyes. _If I can't see you, you can't see me. _

"Cristina?" Owen knocked once more and Cristina slid to the ground, resting her head against the door so that she was looking to the ceiling. "Cristina, I know you're in there. Callie told me you were house bound." _Damn. Callie. _

"I don't think I want to see you right now." Her voice was fragile from one week of silence and she coughed to try and clear her throat, even though she didn't plan on speaking again.

"Why?" He didn't sound angry, just confused. And worried.

Cristina sighed, looking for the words. She couldn't find the right ones, so she settled with "I don't know."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Yes." _No._

He didn't respond. Fresh tears had made their way to Cristina's cheeks in the silence. _He's gone. _She shouldn't be sad, she asked him to go. She banged her head against the door, as frustrated as hell. She had always been the smart one, the quickest one in all her classes, the most experienced intern and now resident. She was always at the top of her game, always in control. She used to be sure of every move she made and now here she was questioning her actions, not even understanding them as they came and went. She began to brace herself to get up and retrieve her tissue when he spoke again.

"Survivor's guilt." His voice was apprehensive, but strong. She could feel him lean against her door, sitting down in a similar position she was in. "That's what you're feeling."

She didn't respond. She was still in shock that he hadn't left when she thought he had.

"When my troop died, I felt like I should have died too." Cristina wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, waiting for him to speak again. "I mean, why should I live when every single other one of the other soldiers, every single one of my friends, should just… die?" There was another silence. Cristina felt the wide of his back against her door shake silently. "Lucas Milano, he was my doctor's assistant, he had two kids at home, twin boys. They were almost six years old and he was taking a leave to go surprise them for their birthday. And Fredrick Scott," Owen sighed at the memories he was recalling, "he was going to become a lawyer. He already got his undergrad and decided to take a break before going to get his masters degree. They were all good men, Cristina. They all had plans and dreams that will never come true and I didn't understand why. I didn't understand why the universe or god or whoever would take away such young, such good, _good _men and leave me." She could feel the tears running down his cheeks. She could hear the pain.

"And now?"

"Now I still don't know. I still don't think it's fair and I'm still fucking angry at whoever is responsible for their deaths. I just know that I've been given another chance and I owe it to them to not give up that chance. I owe it to them. And I owe it to myself."

"That's different Owen."

"No, Cristina, it's not. You owe it to George, to Izzie. You owe it to them to come out of the apartment and get on with your life."

She wasn't trying to hide her sobs anymore; even if she tried she wasn't sure she'd be able to. In between flustered breaths she answered. "I don't think I can."

"Well then at least let me in."

Cristina let out a muffled cough of a laugh before getting to her feet slowly. She heard him get up as well, but didn't make any move to open the door. "Owen, I don't think I can." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He didn't respond for awhile and when he did, his voice wasn't much louder than hers had been. "Alright. That's alright." He knocked softly on the door and let his hand drag down. "I'll be back tomorrow, Cristina."

She placed her ear up against the door and listened as his footsteps retreated. She stayed that way for what felt like eternity. He was really gone this time. _He was gone._

_But he'll be back._


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry it took me awhile to get this chapter out. I've tried to make up for my haitus by making this chapter super intense. Hope you enjoy and reviews are more than welcome!

* * *

Owen smiled as he saw the open door at the end of the hallway. As he approached the threshold of Cristina's apartment, his smile grew into a chuckle. _Only Cristina Yang. _He knocked on the already opened door twice and peered inside. She was sitting on the far end of her couch, knees against her chest, chin resting on her knees. She looked up at him with her huge brown eyes that were usually filled with such fire but that now appeared empty, broken. At least they were dry. Owen walked up to the couch cautiously, as if trying not to spook a deer. Cristina followed him with her eyes, blinking lazily, but not speaking a word. Owen stopped when he reached the couch and sighed. She looked so tired, so worn out.

Cristina turned her head so that her cheek was now resting on her knees. "Hi." Her voice was coarse, unused.

Owen sat down on the arm of the couch. "Was your door left open all day?" She could here the disapproval heavy in his voice and shook her head.

"Callie told me when your shift was finished." She shrugged and returned her eyes to the floor, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

Owen didn't respond. He just watched Cristina breath in and out, noticing her dishevelled hair and over-sized sweat pants. He knew she would speak when she was ready. When she wasn't showing any signs of breaking the silence, he made himself more comfortable on her couch, still leaving 2 feet to separate them. She coughed as he brushed cheerio crumbs from the surface of the couch onto the floor.

Cristina turned her face away from Owen completely, staring out her apartment window at the sunny day. Normally she didn't feel affected by the weather – sunny, rainy, it didn't matter, she would end up spending her day inside the hospitable either way – but today she despised the weather. She hated the sun. It was mocking her, showing her how nice life could be, _should _be, showing her that life didn't care about the deaths of her friends or the fact that she hadn't left her apartment in a week. The sun kept on shining and Cristina hated it. She wanted the apocalypse. She wanted the sun to explode into a thousand fragments and plummet to earth with a burning fury. She wanted to throw a blanket over it, extinguish it forever, just so every one else on the planet could feel like their world had come to an end, just like hers had.

Tears came to her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. Cristina let out a cry of frustration as she rubbed her face red, trying to erase the evidence of her pain.

Owen sat there watching her, his heart crumbling with every tear of hers that fell. He began to move towards her but before he could get far, the tight ball Cristina had curled herself into collapsed onto him. Her face was pressed against his lower thigh, her hands still attacking her tears. Her hair had a life of it's own and splayed itself across his lap. One of his hands combed through her tangled hair, and the other rubbed the curve of her torso, trying to calm her rattled breaths. The knee of his jeans was becoming damper as she continued to cry, but Owen didn't notice the wetness, he was too busy trying to quiet 100 pounds of pure chaos. He settled with rubbing her back and cooing softly until her body stopped shaking and her breath became even.

Cristina sat back up, drew her knees again to her chest, and focused her gaze on her blank television screen. The silence that followed her outburst was unsettling and socially awkward but Owen remained quiet, waiting for her to be ready to talk.

When she opened her mouth again, her voice was low and cold. "I didn't use to be like this." She glanced over at Owen and when he made no move to respond, she continued. "All emotional, estrogeny." He smiled at her medical terminology. "I used to be good at dealing with a crisis. I used to be professional. And now…" She exhaled sharply. "Now I can't even go twenty minutes without breaking out in tears. It's pathetic. And I keep thinking that there are no more tears to cry, but then I remember Izzie's flat line or-" She hiccupped. "or George's mashed up face and-" Her breath became erratic once again and more tears found there way to her painfully red cheeks. "_Fuck._" She hiccupped and then moaned in furry at her own lack of control. "_I'm a fucking mess Owen._" More tears. More pain. "I'm a – a – fucking –"

Before she could finish her last fragmented sentence, Owen crushed her body into his, laying her face into the arch of his neck and forcing her shaking body onto his lap. Her crying became more violent, but less strident as he spoke to her in a calm but stern tone.

"Cristina, you are grieving. You are allowed to grieve. You've just lost two of your closest friends." She tried to push herself away, but his strong arms wouldn't allow her escape. "You feel like shit. And you feel like the world has ended. And you feel like you want to kill every person you see wearing a smile. And that's ok. That's the way it feels for awhile." She fought him harder, her hands now pressing herself away from his neck, but he took both her wrists in one of his and forced them to be still. "It'll get better Cristina. There will be a time where you can go outside again and you can go back inside those hospital walls without guilt. There will be a time when you won't cry every time you think of George and Izzie." She gave up trying to fight him and allowed herself to be held and comforted. "_You will be alright_. It probably won't be for a really long time, but it'll happen. You will heal from this and you _will_ get better."

She rested her head in the point between his neck and shoulder until her tears stopped and her hiccups subsided. She brushed her nose against his adam's apple to allow her cheeks to start air-drying. Owen continued rubbing her back and placed a delicate kiss on top of her mangled hair.

"I hate them." Her voice, although full of passion, was nothing above a whisper. "I hate them for dying and leaving me here like this. I hate them"

Owen smiled knowingly. "No. You don't hate them Cristina." He stopped rubbing her back and pulled her into a tight bear hug. "You loved them." He thought for a moment before correcting himself. "You _love_ them."


	4. Chapter 4

Owen smiled knowingly. "No. You don't hate them Cristina." He stopped rubbing her back and pulled her into a tight bear hug. "You loved them." He thought for a moment before correcting himself. "You _love_ them."

Cristina exhaled a long held breath. "I know." She spoke quietly, as if she was ashamed of the fact. Owen braced himself for more tears, more sobs, but none came. She breathed in deeply and spoke again, this time more resolutely. "I do love them."

He smiled down at her and she returned it with a slow blink. She lifted her left leg over his, so that, rather than straddling him, she was sitting sideways on his lap before snuggling her face into his chest. "You're warm." Owen drew circles on her back with the tips of his fingers. "Burke was never warm like this." She had intended to sit Owen down, have a proper talk about her past relationship, her before, but the words had leaped out of her and she let them.

His hands stopped and rested lightly on her back as he glanced down at her. "Burke?" He didn't try to sound casual about his interest and Cristina loved him for it.

She nodded her head in his chest. "He wasn't a very warm person. He was cool. Cool, calm and collected. He was my fiancé."

Owen raised his eyebrows in surprise. _Fiancé. _He begun to rub her back again, silently encouraging her to continue.

"I loved him. He was consistent, grounded." Owen could hear the pain in her voice, but it was a different kind of pain, one she had already reconciled with, one she had already healed from. "He was very organized… predictable almost. He was cool." Cristina exhaled pensively. "I liked cool," she raised he head so that she could look Owen straight in the eyes. She smiled melancholically at him, both reliving the aches of her past and enjoying the comfort of her present. "I think I like warm better."

Owen smiled back at her before placing a fragile kiss on her chapped lips. "I love you." He sweetly whispered into her ear and wrapped his arms more tightly around her. She reciprocated by snaking her arms around his neck and letting her cheek fall onto his broad shoulders.

"I love you too." She sighed contently. "Thank-you, Owen. For everything you've done, all of this. All the calls-"

"That you never answered." He interrupted playfully.

She breathed a laugh. "I'm sorry." He began to protest, but it was her turn to interrupt him. "No, I really am. I just," She coughed slightly. "I just couldn't, Owen."

"I know. I understand." She made a sound of disbelief. He lifted her chin so that they were eye level and spoke again, with true sincerity. "I do understand, and you don't have to be sorry, Cristina. You don't."

"Ok." She replied simply, still looking him straight in the eye. He laughed out loud and she joined him with a small smile before breaking out into a yawn.

Owen's laughter stopped. His eyes turned from playful to concerned. "Are you tired?" He glanced at her kitchen clock. 11:23. "I should go. You should get some sleep."

He slid one arm underneath Cristina's legs and began to lift her petite body off of his own, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him. "No. Don't go." He paused and stared at her with a look of apprehension. He wanted to stay; of course he wanted to stay, but looking at her now, he noticed the bags under her eyes and chastised himself for staying this long, keeping her from much needed rest. "Stay. Please."

"Cristina-"

"I can't sleep anyways. So, stay." Her tired eyes pleaded with his anxious ones. "I like your company."

Owen gave in, as they both knew he would. He took his arm out from the back of her bent knees and clasped it around one of her hands. "You can't sleep?"

"No, well-" She bit her lip, looking up at him timidly. He cocked an eyebrow. Timid was one look that was not one of Cristina's usual expressions. "I _can _sleep, technically. I just don't like to."

"Are you having nightmares?" Owen asked, concerned. Having had the experience, he knew how bad the terrors could get.

"No. It's just-" Cristina exhaled. "It's like every time I go to sleep, I'm fine. And I sleep fine. I just hate waking up. I forget where I am, everything that has happened – just for a moment. And then it all comes rushing back." She let her eyes trail down to their entwined hands. "Every morning I remember and relive everything as if it's just happened. So I've stopped sleeping. And I've been fine." Cristina's body defied her as she tried to stifle a yawn. "Really," She assured him. "It's ok."

Owen smiled with a look of compassion, amusement, and disbelief as he, again, snaked his hand beneath Cristina's legs and lifted her. "Owen!" She grabbed at his hand, trying to stop him from leaving, clearly frustrated. She gave up against his brute strength, but continues berating him. "Owen, stop."

"Shh." He silenced her and stood easily with her in his arms. He padded his way to her bedroom and placed her on top on her unused duvet. Once she was on the bed he crossed his arms. "You need sleep Cristina. I took tomorrow off work, so I can be here for when you wake up. I'll help you remember it all. I'll relive it with you." He bent down to kiss her stubborn frown. "It'll be ok. Ok?"

"Can't you stay?"

Owen swallowed. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Cristina. The therapy is ongoing and…" He trailed off, exhausted himself.

"You said that you slept. You slept without nightmares or anything. If you slept than why can't you stay?"

He was silent for a moment, arguing in his head, passion vs. reason. He finally made a decision and exhaled with a small smile. "I'll sleep on the couch."

She argued back defiantly, running tirelessly until she got her way. "No, you'll sleep here with me."

Owen's smile grew as he bent down to steal another kiss. "Cristina, I'm not going to risk another strangling debacle." He stroked her tangled hair and cupped her chin, kissing her again, wishing he was healed enough to stay. He laid a third kiss on her lips and drew away, smiling boyishly, their faces a foot apart. "You're fragile enough as it is."

He straightened and began to walk away. "I'm not fragile." She muttered stubbornly, more to herself then to Owen. He turned back to flash Cristina a good night smile before heading to his makeshift bed for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Cristina padded silently out of her bedroom, slowing stretching her arms as she walked. She shielded her eyes from the sunlight streaming into her living room and glanced at her wall clock. 10:37. Cristina hadn't slept this long since beginning her residency at Seattle Grace. After becoming an intern it had been a combination of cat naps and red bull that constituted a good night's rest for her.

Making her way over to her coffee maker, Cristina glanced at Owen's still, sleeping form. She smiled. She liked him here. He fit. She quietly replaced the coffee filter, trying not to wake him. She watched him evenly breathe in and out. He was on his back, limbs splayed out as far as the small couch would permit. One foot was resting on the far arm of the couch while the other hung limply to the floor. His arms were both thrown over his head. The bend in his elbows moved with him as he breathed. He face was tilted towards the sun; his forehead lightly brushed his left forearm. His lips were curved upward in a small smile and his eyes were smooth, peaceful. There were no terrors filling his dreams tonight, no memories haunting his sleep. Cristina's smile grew as she reached for two mugs. She was in the middle of pouring when she realized that she didn't know how he liked his coffee. She didn't even know if he drank coffee at all. She thought he drank coffee, obviously – what surgeon didn't? – But she had no way of knowing for sure.

Cristina took out both the sugar and the cream – which did smell a little funky, but not too dangerous – and set them on the table in front of Owen's sleeping body along with the coffee. She took a few steps back and then took a sip from her own mug, still watching him. She was mesmerized by his presence. She had forgotten what this felt like. She had forgotten how her stomach could do back flips, making her feel ecstatic and sick all at the same time. She had forgotten how just thinking about a person could make her smile and how one look could send her heartbeat racing. She had forgotten what love felt like. She felt light, which, considering all the baggage she had acquired recently, was a miracle. Cristina let out a small, breathy laugh. She didn't believe in miracles. Miracles were for the pope, and nurses, and people like Izzie.

Cristina's smile slowly faded. Miracles were for Izzie. She believed in them and she deserved them and yet when the time came, she was denied. Izzie, the hopeful one, was left cold and dead while the sarcastic and sceptical Cristina was saved. Cristina stumbled into her kitchen with blurred vision. She dumped the remaining coffee into her sink and slammed her mug on the counter beside it. She gripped the edge of her counter and locked her arms, trying to steady her erratic breathing. She watched as tears fell from her face and onto her kitchen floor. She counted as they hit the cold tiles. _One, two, three…_

Seven tears had fallen when Cristina lifted her head. Owen was still fast asleep, thank goodness. She dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks and nose, not bothering to grab a tissue.

She would take a shower. That was the solution. She would get clean and have a chance to pull herself together before Owen woke up. As supportive as he was, she didn't want to fall apart in front of him again. Once was embarrassing enough.

As she reached the bathroom, Cristina pulled off her black camisole and stepped out of her sweatpants. She stood beside the shower for a moment, remembering how her first date with Owen had ended. It was so ironic that only a few months ago he was hopeless and broken. She had been the strong one and now she was torn apart, damaged, waiting to be glued back together by his capable hands. Their roles had been reversed. Cristina turned the water on and spun the nozzle to the hottest temperature. She was going to burn away her misery.

* * *

It was the sound of falling water that woke Owen. In high school, instead of having an alarm clock, his mother would simply turn the shower on as a sign for him to get his ass out of bed and now his ear was in tune to the noise. He rose quickly to a sitting position, before realizing his surroundings and remembering what had led him there. He saw the cup of coffee on the table along with the cream and sugar and smiled. _Cristina Yang – housewife. What a thought._ He picked up the mug and tipped in one spoon of sugar. He sat comfortably, drinking his coffee and listening to Cristina shower.

Owen breathed deeply. He liked being in her apartment, even under unfortunate circumstances. He liked knowing that she was showering and that in a few moments she would make her way into the kitchen, followed, most likely, by a sarcastic comment and a small, healing smile. Her hair would be wet, which would probably make it all the more ferocious and irresistible. She would smell of cinnamon and some other spice that Owen didn't know the name of. He would hug her good morning, ask how her night had been, and maybe even suggest a walk outside though he knew she would refuse. He didn't have to work today so he had an entire day to spend making Cristina laugh, helping her heal, and trying to protect her from the unbearable pain he knew was behind every corner.

Once Owen had drained his cup, he sauntered over to Cristina's kitchen and placed it beside what he assumed was her own empty mug. He opened her cupboards, hoping to find something he could make them for breakfast, but the choices were pretty limited. He found three overly ripe bananas, two packages of Cup-A-Soup (both garden vegetable), and one half eaten packet of Ritz Crackers. The fridge held beer, two empty bottles of water, some old Chinese take out boxes, and cheese. Owen let the door swing shut as he exhaled and made a mental note to buy some groceries.

He heard the water stop and the squeak of Cristina's feet walking across bare tile. He walked back over to the couch where he slept and began folding up the quilt he had kicked off himself during the night. Cristina walked into the room a few seconds later wearing an old Berkley T-shirt and a pair of black yoga pants. The shower had made her hair curl tighter and her eyes look more alive. Owen walked over and enveloped her in a hug that lasted two seconds longer than he expected it to.

"Good morning." She said into his chest before stepping out from his warmth. She followed Owen's gaze to her bright red arms. "I had a hot shower." She explained.

Owen nodded and watched her awhile before continuing in their conversation. "How was your night?"

Cristina thought for a moment before answering. "Fine. Good. Better than I expected it to be I guess."

"That's good." He sat down on the couch and as an afterthought glanced back up at her. "Thanks for the coffee by the way."

"It's nothing." She was about to turn away to go dry her hair when she stopped and suddenly plunked down on her couch beside Owen. "How do you take your coffee?"

"One sugar." He responded as a reflex; he'd taken one sugar since before he could remember. "Why?"

She smiled at him for a second before leaning forward and placing a small kiss on the very corner of his mouth. "No reason." She said before she pulled his face towards hers again.


	6. Chapter 6

I felt we needed a little light hearted-ness in this crazy depressing story. So here it is. Hope you all like it! I'm trying to be more vigilant with updating the story, but we'll see how long that lasts. Thank-you again for all the reviews. They're fabulous!

* * *

They were sitting on the couch. Owen had turned the radio on and was now reading a novel beside Cristina who was just sitting. The song playing was foreign to her, melodic, kind of sad, but happy at the same time; she didn't like it.

Her nose wrinkled. "What station is this?"

Owen shrugged without looking up from his book.

Cristina turned her upper body to challenge him. "You were the one who put the radio on."

Owen smiled as he glanced up at her, closing his book and using his thumb as a bookmark. "It was on this station when I turned it on."

Her brow crinkled and his smile grew. She never listened to the radio. She had actually forgotten she had one up until a few moments ago.

Cristina slouched back into the couch and Owen, realizing the conversation wouldn't continue, returned to his book.

Her feet were on top of her coffee table, tapping to the beat of the music. Cristina watched her feet move. One sock was navy blue with pink horizontal lines and the other was just navy blue. She had a bug bite on her left ankle, but it wasn't itchy.

She sighed heavily. She was so god damn bored. It was 3:04 in the afternoon. After finishing their morning coffee, they had watched a movie that neither of them had paid attention to, some action flick, lots of blood. At noon Owen had gone out to buy lunch and returned with warm Thai food and a Steven King novel. For the rest of the afternoon he had been reading and she had been sitting… doing nothing. It's not like he was ignoring her, he would have been game for whatever activity Cristina was interested in. It was just that she didn't want to do anything. She didn't want to go out. She didn't have cards or board games, and she was reluctant to pop in another mindless movie. She still had Meredith's collection of her mother's groundbreaking surgeries, but she was avoiding anything that had to do with surgery or hospital patients. Or death, really.

A few days after what had happened, Cristina had watched one of Ellis Grey's videos, or tried to at least. She had thought it would help her unwind the way it usually had. It didn't. As soon as the first incision was made, the tears came. Cristina couldn't help but thinking of the patients family. Whether the person being cut open had just gotten married or had plans to serve in the military. Once she saw the blood, red, rich, and haunting, she had gagged. The grainy videos were too real for Cristina to handle. She could feel the tender organs rub against her surgical glove, she could smell the blood. The smell of surgeries, which she used to cherish, had made her sick all over her bathroom floor. Cristina had sat there, on the cool tile for over an hour, sobbing. She couldn't help but remember all the times she had begged for surgeries when she didn't even know the name of the patient. All the times she had stopped resuscitation when she could have gone a second longer. All the times she just didn't care enough. Cristina had sobbed for all the patients she had lost and not thought twice about.

Cristina was drawn away from her thoughts and back to reality by Owen. He was humming along to the generic tune of whatever song had begun playing on the radio. It wasn't even a manly song either, it was by one of those teen super stars that got too much coverage and had bad teeth. It was the kind of song Cristina imagined her mother knew all the words to. She glanced at him with a look of disbelief, trying to catch his eye, but he was too distracted, apparently, with this fascinating song. She opened her mouth to interrupt, but thought better of it when Owen actually starting singing the words to the chorus under his breath. Cristina had to fight to hold her laughter in, especially during the bridge into the key change. His head was bobbing along dramatically to the beat of the music while his fingers beat the drum pattern onto his upper thigh. Cristina finally broke when he switched into his falsetto to follow the melody. Her laughter was loud and sounded strange to her ears. It had been a long time since she had really, _really _laughed. The noise startled Owen who immediately stopped singing to see what had happened. Cristina's head was thrown back; her hands clutched her sides. She was trying, unsuccessfully, to speak in between the peals of laughter.

"You're... singing!" She managed two breathless words before breaking down again. When Owen realized what had her laughing a deep red blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He tried to turn away from her to hide his embarrassment, but he wasn't quick enough. As soon as Cristina saw his reaction, her laughter rose. Tears were streaming down her face, and for the first time in a long time, they weren't tears of sorrow.

Once the laughter stopped and her breathing became more even, Owen turned back to her painfully. Cristina giggled at his expression, but managed to maintain control and sober up.

"I'm sorry." Her face was composed, her voice serious, but as soon as Owen opened his mouth to respond another short laugh erupted from Cristina. She clamped her jaw shut again and adapted a solemn expression.

"It's fine." Owen said it quietly and quickly, avoiding Cristina's eyes. They sat in silence for awhile. She watched him stare at the floor, his face still an embarrassing shade of red. He let out a small cough.

"You were singing-"

"I know."

"But you were – you were _really_ singing."

Owen let out another quite cough, trying to think of a good explanation. "It was a catchy song."

"It was a teeny-bobber song." She pointed out. "It's the kind of song little girls sing along to." The smile on her face grew and he turned to look at her. "You knew the words to the little girl song. You knew _all_ the words."

Owen sighed. "I just… like the song."

Cristina began chuckling again and this time he joined her. Pretty soon he was laughing louder than she was, holding his face in his hands and wiping his eyes.

When the laughter died in down for a second time, Owen apologized.

"Oh you don't have to be sorry," Cristina raised her eyebrows and he prepared himself for the sarcastic comment he assumed was coming. "I just didn't know your taste in music was the same as million of teenage girls around the world."

"It's one song and it has a good tune." Cristina rolled her eyes and Owen faced forward grumpily. "And a catchy rhythm."

Cristina leaned against him. "I'm sorry Owen." She lifted his arm and placed it around her shoulders.

Owen continued facing forward, but allowed his arm to wrap around Cristina. "It's fine."

She smiled smugly into his side and sighed contently. This felt good. Lying here with Owen. Laughing. It felt like she was getting back to normal or at least closer to it. He kissed the top of her head lightly before opening his novel again. Cristina allowed her eyes to close. She lifted her legs onto the couch and stretched them out to get more comfortable. He began to run his fingers through her hair absentmindedly and she snuggled her face closer to him. The radio continued playing in the background and as she drifted into sleep, Cristina thought she heard Owen begin to hum along.


	7. Chapter 7

Here's the next chapter. I hope you all enjoy reading it. As always, reviews are more than welcome, they are encouraged beyond belief. Even if you hate it, tell me. :) Thanks for all the support up to this point.

* * *

"Thai?"

"No."

"Pizza?"

"No."

"Indian?"

"No."

Owen sighed heavily, his finger tapping impatiently on the restaurant page of the local directory. It was 8:12 and Cristina had yet to pick a place to eat.

"We could go for Mexican?"

Cristina scrunched her nose. "Ew."

"Ok. That's it. We're picking a place right now." He closed his eyes and dramatically dropped his finger on Celadon. "Korean." Owen nodded his head, hoping to portray some measure of authority with this stubborn woman. "We're going for Korean food."

"I hate Korean food." Cristina let her head fall into the palm of her left hand. "Can't we just stay in?"

"No. We can't stay in." Owen's stomach groaned. "And how can you hate it?" He seemed personally offended by her taste. "You are Korean!"

"Hey!" Cristina lifted her head, using the hand that was previously holding it up to point at Owen. "Just because I'm Asian doesn't mean I eat their food. That would be like-" She scanned Owen's body trying to come up with an appropriate example. "You liking..." She finally found her inspiration in his head of orange hair. "Fire!" Owen raised his eyebrows, but Cristina continued on. "It would be like you liking fire because you're a ginger!" Cristina crossed her arms and lifted her chin proudly but when she looked up at Owen, expecting him to look sheepish and apologetic, she discovered, instead, a bemused expression on his face.

"Fire?" He asked playfully. "I like fire?"

Cristina tilted her head bitterly. "Well you have the hair for it." Her frown deepened as Owen laughed under his breath. _His laugh is so sexy. _She mused. _No. _Cristina squeezed her eyes shut, scolding herself. _Don't lose focus. _"Aren't _I_ supposed to be picking the restraint anyways?" Her arms unfolded from her chest only to plunk down stubbornly on her hips. "The only reason I agreed to going out tonight was if I could choose where we eat."

"Well then decide Cristina!" Owen gestured to his stomach, which was groaning again with hunger, to emphasize his next point. "We've been looking through restaurants for two hours now. By the time we finally pick one, the only places open are going to be bars and strip clubs."

Cristina thought for a moment. "I want to go to a bar."

"A bar? That was a joke." Owen glanced down at his attire. His white cotton button up shirt was rolled up to his elbows, his plain black tie loosened, and his dress pants were getting uncomfortable. The only thing missing was a suit jacket that was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm not dressed for a bar."

Cristina, who was wearing loose fitting jeans and a turquoise long sleeved top, smiled. "We could always stay here, order some pizza." She took another step towards Owen. "Eat in bed." She was doing her best to be sexy and by his hesitation, she could tell that she was pulling it off.

Owen cleared his throat and frowned at Cristina before answering. "No. We're going out. _You_ need to get out of this house." He took her hand, about to lead her out the door, but changed his mind with a smirk and began to pull her to her own bedroom.

"Oh," Cristina lifted an eyebrow seductively. "Are you taking me up on my dinner in bed offer?" She tugged at his belt playfully, but Owen continued pulling her past her bedroom, and into her walk-in closet. "What the-"

"If I'm over dressed, I think it's best if you're over dressed with me." He began searching through the hangers of clothes, pausing on a black and white print dress and a navy blue pencil skirt. Owen finally settled on a pale yellow cocktail dress. "Here." He pushed it into Cristina's arms. "This one." He smiled as she grudgingly stomped into her bathroom. He had expected more of a fight, but then again, you can't really expect things of Cristina Yang - she always managed to surprise.

A minute later, when Cristina stepped out of the bathroom, Owen breathed deeply, trying to commit this picture to memory. _This woman. _He thought. Owen had never taken the saying 'takes your breath away' literally. In his opinion, it was a term invented by Hollywood to make teenage girls swoon. Even when he was engaged, he had never been breathless, the way he was now. Cristina had let her hair out of its bun so that it cascaded down her shoulders. The sleeveless dress fit her waist and hips just right so that when she took a step, the dress moved with her. The neckline fell just above her breasts, teasingly showing just a hint of a shadow and the fabric fell gracefully to just above Cristina's knees, showing off her toned calves. Owen had to remember how to breathe as this woman stood before him.

Cristina smirked at his expression. "Three weeks cooped up in this place and I've still got it." She began to walk back to her closet, hoping to retrieve her black pumps, but Owen stopped her. He weaved his hand and forearm around her waist and pulled her up against him. She was so close she could feel his breath and she found herself breathing with him. This silence between them was so comfortable, and yet so charged with energy. Looking into his ice blue eyes, Cristina realized that Owen was still a new person to her - he was uncharted territory. No matter how much time they spent together every thing he did surprised her. And her reactions were equally as strange. She would never fully get used to him. Every time their skin met a charge sped through her body. Every time he spoke, his voice was all she could hear. With every look, her stomach flipped over. She felt like a twelve year old girl experiencing her first crush. She felt like those girls who obsessed over celebrities, who bought all their merchandise and kissed their poster goodnight. If there was an Owen Hunt poster, Cristina would kiss it every night - but she had the real thing. Cristina leaned in to close the small space between them. She began to raise her lips to his, placing her hand on the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Owen met her halfway catching her lips deeply. His free hand caught hers and they interlaced their fingers.

The kiss didn't last long. Owen broke away softly and when that contact was suddenly lost, Cristina opened her eyes to find him staring at her.

"I love you." He spoke quietly as he lifted their still clasped hands to his chest, to his heart. "I really, really love you Cristina." He looked at her with such naked conviction that she had no space to doubt. His sincerity was so clear that Cristina couldn't imagine not responding.

"I love you too." A small smile played across Owen's face and, with the encouragement, Cristina joined him. They stood there smiling at each other blissfully until Owen remembered himself and checked his watch.

"We have to go." He began to pull Cristina gently towards the door, but when they were about to cross the threshold, Owen felt resistance. He turned around to find Cristina's mood changed. She stared at the closed door with bewildered eyes. He placed his hands on either side of her face, trying to rid her expression of fear. "Cristina?" She didn't look at him. Her gaze fell steadfastly on her apartment door.

"I can't Owen." Tears came to her eyes. "Please don't make me go out there."

Owen wiped away the tears, one by one, as soon as they spilled onto her cheeks. He tried to understand her sudden mood shift, her sudden fear, but he couldn't. He wanted to save her from this, to stop it before it ever happened again, but he was always too late. All he could do was try and pick up the pieces. Try and glue her back together.

Cristina collapsed into Owen's strong form. Her body crumpled like a mis-treated cotton doll. He held her, soothed her, until she could stand on her own. Until she proudly carried her own weight and wiped the tears that, thanks to Owen, were already gone. Cristina was independent and no matter how long or hard Owen carried her, she would always claim that title.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was slightly horse, filled with pain.

Owen wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. Even though she was now stable on her feet, she allowed him to comfort her. _Oh who was she kidding? _Cristina needed his comfort. With all this death and destruction, the only glimmer of hope left in her life was Owen's ability to make her forget for awhile.

Cristina sniffled one last time and then reluctantly pushed herself away from Owen's chest. He allowed her to break their embrace, but kept one hand on her upper arm, so that she couldn't run too far away. "Ok." She said heavily. "Let's go." She took his hand in hers and tried to lead him the way he had done her, but he yanked on her arms so that she spun back to face him.

"Go where Cristina?" He eyed her warily. After what had just happened, he was more than reluctant to let her out of her apartment. She wasn't ready. He had thought wrong.

"To a bar. To eat." She tried very hard to make her voice sound casual, but it came out brittle and child-like. At Owen's expression, she continued. "Owen, I want to go." Her voice gained power as she stood up straighter. "You're right. I need to get out of this place. I want to see Joe and eat salty peanuts." She turned back around to face her doorway again. "Now come on." She marched steadfastly to the door and, with a shaking hand, turned the knob.

Owen allowed himself to be led out the door, onto the street, and into his future, by Cristina Yang.


	8. Chapter 8

I apologize that I kind of abonded this story. I had a different ended planned, but that would have been a couple more chapters and I just really wanted to finish this off quickly so I could possibly start another one. SO, I hope you enojoy the ending, even though it's a little rushed. Thanks to every one who ever read my fanfictions, your reviews are so appreciated!! Hope you like it!!

* * *

Cristina sipped her scotch and soda hesitantly, aware of Owen's nervous gaze. She finally glanced up into his blue, worried eyes. She held his gaze defiantly before he blinked and cleared his throat.

"I shouldn't have let you come here." Owen fidgeted with his ice water. "We should go." He covered her petite hand with his own and pushed back his chair as he stood.

"No." She laced their fingers together and pulled him back to his chair. "I'm fine. Look," she gestured to her face with her free hand. "No tears."

Owen sighed. He wasn't convinced.

"I'm not going to break down or cause a scene." She continued. "I'm Cristina Yang. I can do this." She nodded, as if to convince herself. "I'm a surgical resident. I can go forty-eight hours without sleep, I can fly solo, I can repair a broke heart-" her voice cracked on her last word and she instinctually squeezed her eyes shut. Cristina inhaled deeply and took a swig of her drink – eyes still closed. She opened them as she spoke again. "I can do this."

Owen stared at her, utterly helpless. How do you help some one who won't help themselves? How can you force some to get better – to slow down and just focus on getting better. Cristina was in such a hurry to be back to her old self but what she didn't realize was that there was no going back. Things like this – like George and Izzie and Iraq – they change you. Owen watched Cristina's eyes dart from her drink to the bar and come to rest at their entwined hands. Owen stroked her thumb with his. They sat in silence as Cristina blinked – furiously trying to hold back more tears. Owen took a sip of his water, never looking away from the woman he loved. It was a few minutes before Cristina broke the silence. Her voice was strong again, her eyes dry. "I didn't used to be like this." She took her hand out of Owen's and used it to support her chin as she spoke. "I used to be hardcore." Owen smiled briefly at her terminology. "I was a badass cardio God. Nothing got to me." Her eyes narrowed, experiencing the determination she had once felt. "I don't cry. I'm not a crying person." Owen opened him mouth to comfort her, but he couldn't think of any words to sooth the dull ache that was evident in her voice. Cristina laced her fingers together and broke them down to her lap, watching as they went. "Except now I cry." She glanced up at Owen with pleading eyes. She longed for him to find some sense in this mess she'd made. "I haven't gone a single day without crying." As if to prove her point, tears welled up in her eyes. She swore hopelessly under her breath before pressing a napkin to her face.

"I can't watch action movies." Owen's voice was low and sincere. His eyes caught Cristina's and held them. "Ever since I got back, I can't stand them. It makes me nauseous." Cristina opened her mouth to interrupt, but he continued. "I know it's not the same thing. It's just that," Owen laughed to himself. "I used to really love Die Hard." He glanced down into his drink. "It was my favourite movie and now… now it makes me sick." Cristina watched him silently, sympathetically. "What I'm saying is that people change –"

"I don't change." Cristina interrupted stubbornly. But even before she was finished her sentence the tears came again, faster this time, proving her wrong. She used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes and nose, but it was no good. Owen handed over his napkin. "I don't want to change." Cristina whispered through her tears, because she couldn't sense an end to them. Her words came out garbled and difficult to understand, but Owen knew what she was trying to say. He placed a twenty dollar bill on the table as he stood and walked over to support Cristina's shaking shoulders.

"Come on," he said quietly into her ear. "I want to show you something." She let him push her chair from the table so she could stand. He helped her walk to the bar's exit and opened the door for her.

They walked into the brisk night air and Owen kicked himself for not thinking of coats. Cristina shivered as he led her to a familiar brick wall, now covered in frost.

Owen backed Cristina up so that she was pressed in between his body and the cold wall. He cupped her face gently in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "This was our first kiss after I got back from Iraq."

"You ambushed me in the alleyway." Cristina smiled. "That was my first clue to stay away."

Owen laughed loudly and pulled his face away from Cristina's, but kept his hands under her chin. "I shouldn't have done that. You were mad."

Cristina considered this for a moment before responding. "It was a good kiss."

Again Owen laughed before continuing. "That night I," he glanced at the ground, trying to find the right words among the snow. "I wasn't in a good place, Cristina. We had just lost that patient. I was depressed." He brought his gaze back up to meet Cristina's eyes. "I was lonely. I had just gotten back from Iraq and I wasn't…" Owen exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. "I was a different person and I didn't want to see it. I thought if I saved Miller – that patient – I thought it would prove something." Owen took his hands from Cristina and pressed up to his own face. "When he died, it was when I realized I'd never be the same."

It was Cristina's turn to break their gaze. She sniffled and Owen, again, chastised himself for not bringing a coat from her. "You're a different person now Cristina. You can still be a kiss-ass cardio surgeon. You'll just be one that cries sometimes."

"Speaking of crying…" Cristina's face was wet again, with tear drops falling down her cheeks.

Owen brought his hands back up to Cristina, wiping away each tear with his thumbs. When she stopped crying they stood in silence as she sniffled and coughed. Finally, Owen brought his lips to her right cheek, and kissed her softly. Cristina smiled in spite of herself as he moved from her cheek to her forehead and down the bridge of her nose.

When their lips met, it was more intense than Cristina had expected. Owen kissed with strength and certainty. Her arms snaked up his warm chest and around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands held her waist to his so that her back was arched against the wall. Their lips moved together in urgent synchronization as they tried to pull each other as close as possible. When the kiss ended Owen chuckled under his breath.

"What?" Cristina asked playfully as Owen brushed a stray curl behind her ear.

"I really do love you." He responded. Cristina smiled with a pleasant embarrassment. "You're going to be ok Cristina Yang." Her smile was replaced by a grimace at his words. "I'll make sure you're ok. You just have to try to be ok – stop fighting the change." He stroked her cold, pink cheeks. "Will you do that?"

She looked into his eyes, testing his sincerity. His unwavering gaze was earnest and loving. "Ok." She took his hand and intertwined their fingers. He leaned in and kissed her forehead before pulling her off the wall and leading her towards her home.

"Yes."


End file.
